


Spill

by darklinglisten



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Campaign 1 (Critical Role), Coffee Shop, M/M, Trauma, Tumblr Prompt, phone sex operator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 17:23:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21341929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darklinglisten/pseuds/darklinglisten
Summary: Percy's steady decline nosedives when he spills coffee on a pretty guy at the Slayer's Cake. It drops further when he realizes he recognizes this guy's voice.
Relationships: Percival "Percy" Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III/Vax'ildan
Comments: 6
Kudos: 135





	Spill

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by an AU list on tumblr by @veronicabunchwrites: "I overhear you ordering coffee in a coffee shop and I'm trying to place your voice when I realize you're the phone sex operator I've been calling on and off for a few months but the realization startles me so much I accidentally spill my drink on you and you're pissed"

Percy’s routine is of the utmost importance. It keeps him from thinking too much about blood splatter he can’t scrub off the dining room wall, a doctor who favors open wounds and yet somehow still gets parole, and Cassandra’s ongoing business endeavors with Delilah Briarwood, of all people. His therapist tells him that avoidance won’t change anything, and that one day his routine will fall apart, but until she stops scheduling him to come in every Thursday at 7, he is disinclined to believe her. 

Which is why he is currently in line at the coffee shop halfway between his apartment and the family home. Slayer’s Cake is a tiny local joint owned by a former friend of his, tucked out of the way and much homelier than the carbon-copy Starbucks within walking distance of his apartment. He comes here daily at 8:30 sharp, orders a large black coffee even though he hates the bitter taste, and spends a half hour drinking it by the window, tweaking designs in his journal.

Keyleth is behind the register when he gets to the front of the line. Percy doesn’t have to tell her his order. She still asks him if he wants a scone or muffin before she takes his cash, though. He declines, as per their routine. She gives him that sad puppy look, the one that says she knows why he does this and that she wishes she could help. But there’s nothing she can do. There wasn’t anything she could do when they were sixteen, either, and it’s better for him to buy his coffee and pretend he comes here for the ambiance and not because he misses her friendship.

Percy steps aside to wait for his drink. Keyleth gives him a lingering stare that he ignores under the guise of stuffing loose change in his pockets, then she turns her attention to the next customer. 

It’s better this way, although the voice in his head that sounds like Pike tells him that it  _ isn’t _ , really, not at all. His therapist is continuously encouraging healthy friendships, another thing on the laundry list of suggestions that he ignores. If he didn’t like her so much, he would stop going, court order be damned (which is probably not the modification of his routine that she meant, ha).

“Hi, what can I get for you?” Keyleth’s voice, though not directed at him, cuts through his thoughts. 

“Can I get an iced caramel macchiato, iced white chocolate mocha, both large, and, uh,  _ shit,”  _ the man ordering fumbles his cell phone, then scrambles to grab it off the counter. 

Percy frowns, because something about that strikes him with déjà vu. Percy gives the man a sidelong glance, but he doesn’t look familiar. Percy would remember such a pretty man, namely because it’s not an adjective he tends to ascribe to men, even if he happens to be attracted to them. But this man is hard-pressed for sharp angles outside of jawline and cheekbones, lithe under his jacket and black jeans. That, combined with the long hair, which is only half-piled into a bun, makes him blur the edges of Percy’s conception of masculine and only leaves the word  _ pretty  _ bubbling in Percy’s head. 

“Sorry,” says the man to Keyleth, oblivious to Percy’s staring. He glances at his phone. “A small iced pumpkin spice latte, and that’s all. Thank you.”

“That’ll be $16.77. Did you get sent out for drinks?” Keyleth guesses as she takes his credit card. 

“Yeah, my sisters need their coffee. I’d complain, but I’m just as dependent,” he says. 

“Hey, Percy,” a voice startles Percy out of his eavesdropping, and Percy looks around to find Ker holding his coffee at the pickup counter. “Are you alright?”

Percy nods and takes his coffee. “Thank you.” 

Ker doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t press the conversation, and Percy starts to retreat toward his usual corner. Only, he turns too abruptly and runs into the man who’d ordered after him—

_ “Fuck,”  _ the man hisses, jumping back. Percy’s coffee is spilled all over both of them, and while Slayer’s Cake doesn’t make drinks so hot that they’ve been badly burnt, it still stings like a bitch. 

And then the origin of his previous déjà vu clicks in Percy’s head. It’s the man’s  _ voice. _

On autopilot due to sheer embarrassment, Percy grabs a handful of napkins off the counter and holds them out. The man takes them and tries to wipe away the mess, with little success. A scowl fixes itself on his pretty face.

Percy’s mouth is as disconnected from his brain as everything else, and he says, “I’m sorry— Simon, is it—” 

The man freezes, scowl shattering into something wide-eyed, a shock mixed with a vast range of other unsavory emotions. Percy takes a step back, because of course his name  _ isn’t _ Simon, and now he knows exactly what Percy knows and they’re both covered in hot coffee and Percy may yet have a breakdown right in the middle of the Slayer’s Cake. 

Keyleth and Ker are saying things behind him, but Percy can’t hear the words. In fact, he can’t process anything other than this man’s increasingly discomfited expression. 

“Which are you?” the man asks, eventually. Probably only a few seconds later. 

“Um,” Percy says dumbly, feeling his face grow hot, “Saturday nights. Usually around nine.” Always around nine. It’s another part of his routine. 

“Freddie,” the man who is definitely Simon, and yet, of course, not actually named Simon, says. 

Percy flinches at the fake name, but something within him preens at Simon’s ability to call him out at the top of his head. Something which probably needs to get a sense of shame. 

“Are you two okay?” Keyleth’s words finally permeate Percy’s skull, and he takes his eyes off Simon to look at her, fully aware that he’s bright red. Well. She’ll take it as embarrassment over the spill. 

“I’m sorry, Keyleth, that was my fault. But I’m alright.” Percy gives Simon a glance. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” says Simon to Keyleth, and then to Percy, he adds, “and it’s not a big deal. I guess I snuck up on you. Let me buy you a replacement?” There’s a tension in his tone, like his offer means  _ something,  _ but Percy can’t begin to parse what. 

“His replacement is on the house,” Keyleth interjects before Percy can decline. “There’s a bathroom around the corner, if you want to clean up.” 

“Thanks.”

“You should clean up, too,” Keyleth tells Percy softly, so that Simon likely can’t hear. 

“Right. I will.” 

Percy does as she bid, glad for her direction. He scurries off toward the restroom, and he knows that Simon is following without looking. So he may actually have that breakdown in the restroom, which is only marginally better than in the main shop.

Percy glues himself to the far sink and grabs paper towels, but Simon is undeterred, and really, Percy expected as much. Still, when Simon leans against the counter, Percy keeps his eyes on the mirror and works the towel over the stain on his shirt, only keeping tabs on him peripherally. That doesn’t stop his other senses, though; he catches a whiff of Old Spice beneath coffee when Simon leans in. 

“So. You’re Freddie.”

“Yes. I’m sorry for my indiscretion.” 

Simon waves a hand, but Percy doubts it’s such a simple pardon. Anonymity is important, especially on Simon’s end. People are strange about sex and everything sex-adjacent; getting acknowledged in public by the sound of his voice probably sets off his alarm bells for creeps.

“You know, I expected you to be older,” says Simon. 

“Did you.” Percy doesn’t say it, but he rather expected Simon to be plain. God, Pike is going to have a field day this Thursday.

“Yeah, I guess I expect the guys who call in early every Saturday night to be older and,” Simon pauses, “not as handsome.” 

Percy snorts. “I suppose religiously calling a sex line might imply something like that.” 

“Not always. But at nine on a Saturday, a little bit. Not that it matters to me, most of them are civil enough, as civil as horny men can be, and I have an imagination. I just think it’s interesting that you're the first one to run into me and you’re—”

“—closer to your imagination?” Percy says dryly, and then he flushes, red returning to his face and neck in full force, and curses himself.

“Yeah. And then, that makes me curious.” 

“About?”

“Why you call me.”

Percy bristles. Their current, ah, relationship is unorthodox, but it isn’t close. Not nearly close enough for those kinds of questions. “That’s none of your business.” 

Simon puts his hands up in surrender. “You’re right. Sorry, Freddie.”

“It’s Percy.” He doesn’t know why he’s telling Simon his real name, only that he is. He tosses the paper towels and takes his eyes off the mirror. “My first middle name is Fredrickstein, hence ‘Freddie.’”

“Your  _ first _ middle name?”

“I have several.” Percy hopes he won’t ask what they are. He’s not ready to divulge his identity, although Simon could probably find him on Google from ‘Percival Fredrickstein’ alone. 

“I don’t have any middle names. Simon’s the name of my snake.” 

Percy raises an eyebrow. “Your snake. Really.”

Simon laughs. He looks even prettier when he laughs. It makes his face look softer. “I have a pet kingsnake. But my friend  _ did  _ pitch Simon as my call name on that joke alone.” 

“Well, your friend has a good sense of humor.”

For some reason, that causes Simon to laugh harder. When he calms down, he says, “I’m Vax.”

“Pardon?”

“My name. It’s Vax.” 

“You’re telling me that your name is _ Vax,  _ but your pet snake’s name is  _ Simon?”  _

Vax grins, though he looks a bit sheepish. “My mom was more creative than me.” 

Percy starts to ask if Vax is short for Vaccine, which is undoubtedly another joke his friends have already made, when the restroom door opens. 

Ker steps in and looks them over. Percy knows Keyleth sent him out of concern, and while he appreciates her, he does wish he could figure out how to make her care less about him. It’s in her best interest. 

Thoughts of Keyleth’s concern pop the suspension of reality that grew around Percy during his conversation with Vax. His mood sours as he realizes it’s probably past his allotted half-hour for coffee, which means he’ll get his workshop late, and then he’ll have to skip lunch to be back on track. Lunch wouldn’t be a terrible loss if he hadn’t promised Pike that he would try to eat more, but since he did, he’ll have to lie to her, which is not always easy and never fun. 

And what’s more with Pike, he’ll have to figure out what to say to her about this encounter on Thursday, if anything. He hasn’t told her about the regular phone sex, although he’s shared the details of his torture with her. People are strange about sex. Percy is, regrettably, a person. The thought of telling her that he pays Vax to moan sweetly in his ear while he jerks off makes him squirm. 

And Vax’s sweet moans aren’t the best train of thought when Percy is standing close enough to him to realize that his eyes are dark brown. But Percy can’t help but realize that if he calls the line again, he’ll have a face to put to the voice, and he’ll imagine that it’s  _ Vax  _ he’s fucking instead of some hazy nondescript twink, and maybe Vax will imagine him, and that sounds like too much for Percy to handle, which means he’s back to another crack in his routine. 

“Percy?” This is from Vax, not Ker.

“Yes?”

“He said our drinks are ready?”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Ker asks. Ker and Keyleth have only been friends for about three years now, which means he and Percy aren’t close, but he has a similar nature to her. A desire to help. He’s more patient about it, though, and Percy finds that more annoying than Keyleth’s overbearing attitude at times. 

“I’m fine,” Percy insists, and then to Vax, “Shall we get our drinks?”

Vax nods. Ker holds the door for them. They arrive at the pickup counter to four drinks: three with Vax written on them and one with Percy. 

Vax takes a sip from one drink and loads the other two into a cardboard drink holder. “Listen, Percy, I don’t know if you have sisters,” Percy feels a twinge like a pinprick to a scar, and he doesn’t say that he used to have three, “but mine get cranky without their coffees. So I’m going to have to run.”

“Right,” Percy says, “I should get going as well.” He feels disappointed, which is ridiculous. 

“But,” Vax pulls a receipt out of his pocket, flips it over, and scribbles on it with a Sharpie from the countertop, “if you ever want to give me another call, it’s cheaper at this number.” He hands the receipt to Percy, and Percy stares at the numbers, dumbfounded.

“I— thank you— yes, I will call.” God, based on his behavior today, it would be hard to convince anyone that he took six years of speech lessons. 

Vax smiles, and then he picks up his drinks and leaves. 

Percy stays at the pickup counter, coffee in one hand and Vax’s number in the other.  _ What the hell was that? _

“Did he give you his number?” 

Percy startles when Keyleth appears out of nowhere, and he fumbles his coffee but thankfully doesn’t drop this one. “Keyleth, you scared me.”

“I can’t believe you got his number by spilling coffee on him. When did you get so smooth?”

“I have no idea.” 

“Well, you should definitely text him. It’ll be good for you to go out.”

Percy makes a noncommittal noise, although he intends to use Vax’s number. That does, however, seem to put things in the talking to Pike category. Maybe she’ll just be happy that he made a friend, not that Percy would consider Vax one himself.

Percy bids Keyleth thank you and a good day, along with another apology for the mess, and then he leaves for the family home, a half-hour behind schedule and all the better for it. 


End file.
